


love's the obstinate boy

by elderflowergin



Series: two-headed dragon [4]
Category: Hyena (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, Physical Abuse, Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves, workplace harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27888721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elderflowergin/pseuds/elderflowergin
Summary: Yoon Hee-jae finds a friend with benefits. Jung Geum-ja acquires an acquaintance with detriments. Boo Hyeon-a high-kicks her way into everyone's hearts.
Relationships: Jung Geum-ja & Boo Hyeon-a, Yoon Hee-jae & Boo Hyeon-a, Yoon Hee-jae/Original Female Character
Series: two-headed dragon [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1882501
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	1. gunpowder, gelatine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thefeastandthefast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefeastandthefast/gifts).



> This story has references to physical abuse and workplace harassment. There are no graphic descriptions of either - they are factual and limited to one-liners. Nonetheless, if those specific situations are triggers, please skip this part of the series! <3

Hee-jae was slightly sweaty, tired and miserable when he got into the car. Geum-ja disappeared on him with fair ease - somewhere in between claiming to go to the restroom and doubling back for duty free, she’d effectively lost him. 

He counted himself fortunate he hadn’t opened any of Gi-hyeok’s seventeen messages until he reached home and had a long, perilously hot shower that cleared up his sinuses and rendered him as close to catatonic as he could get; he’d get the rest of the way with the bottle of Bordeaux waiting for him. 

The doorbell rang then; he startled, wondering for a split, illogical second if it was Geum-ja. It wasn’t; it was Ga Gi-hyeok, who looked like he was about to explode from sheer happiness. 

“Did you get my messages? You never replied, so I thought I’d come in person and tell you the good news. We’re engaged!” 

Hee-jae stared at him for a full minute before asking - a little unfairly - “Who?” 

It didn’t stop Gi-hyeok from spending the next two hours going over every detail of the proposal - there were some references in the Choong + Boo HA chat group to extremely pink balloons and Yu-mi’s acid magenta dress, so at a minimum Hee-jae was prepared for the eye-searing monstrosity that was the unholy Gi-hyeok/Yu-mi union. 

There was a look on Gi-hyeok’s face - one that looked familiar to Hee-jae, but he couldn’t place it - when he turned to Hee-jae, serious and almost emotional. 

“Listen. We wouldn’t have met if not for you. So -- thank you,” he said, eyes red and clearly emotional. 

Hee-jae smiled at Gi-hyeok, feeling a little lurch of softness for him and his joy; it dissipated quickly in the face of his bone-deep exhaustion. 

\---

It was a few months later when he met Clarice for the first time. 

He technically couldn’t say much about Clarice, since he signed a surprisingly well-drafted, comprehensive non-disclosure agreement about what he could say (nothing) and could not say (everything under the sun that was remotely linked to Clarice). 

Gi-hyeok was at the bar with him that day, that living violation of an NDA. He’d been nattering on about a client of Song & Kim who was making noises about wanting to switch firms. 

“He really seemed to like the work you guys have been doing, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Mr Park’s real interest lay somewhere else, you know,” he said, waggling his eyebrows significantly. 

That was when she came and sat next to them at the bar. 

With her lavender-hued hair, Doc Martens and leather jacket hanging off her shoulders, she looked more like she ought to be out somewhere at a punk show than at a bar that was frequented by the same five people who were too comfortable with it to go to any of the trendy places. 

She took off her giant sunshades and looked at him. “I’ve met you somewhere,” she said. No preamble, no introduction. It wasn’t until much later that he realised she didn’t really need one. 

Hee-jae was too offended to be polite in the moment. “I don’t think so,” he replied, giving what he hoped was a polite smile (it wasn’t; Gi-hyeok would tell him later that it looked like a wince) and turned back to his drink and his stupid little notebook, taking down pointers for Gi-hyeok’s bachelor party, except Gi-hyeok looked like he was choking on his drink. 

She tilted her head at him, elbows against the bar. “You have no idea who I am,” she said, a grin spreading on her face. “What kind of music do you listen to?”

“Classical,” gasped Gi-hyeok, honestly looking like he might die of a stroke. “Hee-jae, she’s -- oh my god, it’s really her - _you have to stop talking_ -”

Hee-jae tilted his head at the same angle as her, eyes wide and mouth in an unattractive rictus grin. “I don’t know what it could possibly mean to you,” he replied. 

Her gaze was unflinching, as if she’d seen something extremely fascinating and wanted it right there. “You either play the violin or you enjoy listening to it. Am I right?” she said, turning over his pen hand and examining his palm, the calluses on his fingers. “I am, it seems. But you picked it up recently. Breakup?” 

"Fun trick, madam," he said, for want of saying anything else, and turned back to Gi-hyeok, who had actual blood pouring out his nose from snorting whiskey up the wrong way.

She seemed completely unbothered, sashaying away. "They taught it at Berklee, sir," she replied, amused. "See you around."

Hee-jae was too engrossed in stuffing napkins in Gi-hyeok's face to pay attention to the card she slipped into his jacket pocket before running her finger down his bicep. 

At the emergency room, Gi-hyeok was endlessly apologetic. “I just _lost you_ an opportunity with the hottest pop star _in the country_. Was that really her?” He pinched himself, his blood-stained shirt forgotten. “She’s so pretty, isn’t she? And she smelled so nice. Well, I think she did, anyway, because all I can smell is blood. I’m a terrible friend, Hee-jae, I’m sorry,” he rambled on, as a doctor tried to check him over. 

Hee-jae sighed. “It’s fine. Are you alright?” 

“Wait till I tell Yu-mi, she will completely lose it,” he exclaimed. “I should text her! Do you have my phone?” 

Hee-jae took it out of his coat pocket, only to realise something else was in there. 

He turned away to check, and realized it was a silver embossed business card with a single name on it. 

\---

He didn’t think much of it in the following days; he had potential client meetings to prepare for, and it slipped away from his mind in the wake of business. 

His meeting with Assemblyman Woo started out effusive, with pats on the back, and hearty laughter over lunch. It would have been almost pleasant, except Assemblyman Woo had - in the manner of men the world over sharing juvenile, shitty secrets about women - “Hey, you aren’t, you know-” eyebrows waggling - “involved with that partner of yours, are you?” 

There were seven acid retorts that were ready to roll off his tongue; he restrained himself to a mere twist of the mouth. To his lunch companion it must have looked like disdain at the mere thought of it. “I thought not! I hear the rumours, but you know, I don’t personally transact in them. She seems very, uh - forceful,” he offered as Hee-jae poured tea for him. “I suppose someone like that has their uses, though,” he concluded dismissively. 

Hee-jae touched his tie lightly. “It takes a certain talent to do all kinds of work, Assemblyman,” he replied. “In case you should require the full extent of our services some day,” he concluded, offsetting his ominous tone with a polite smile and a pour of tea. 

“I’m sure, young man. I was a great fan of your father. Pity what happened,” he said. “He shouldn’t have felt the need to retire early because of that mess. He should be in the courts, where he belongs,” finished the assemblyman, with feeling. 

If it were possible, Hee-jae’s eyes would have rolled out the back of his head, but he finished his lunch with a modicum of good humour, a ridiculously long-drawn-out two-handed handshake and a promise to engage the firm on some upcoming policy work. 

\---

It was evening, and he took an hour’s break to practise the violin before returning to his office. 

Unusually for her, Geum-ja stood in their shared balcony, hands perched on the low wall. There was a mug resting near her right hand; at this hour, it was unlikely to be coffee. She looked out at the glittering bones of the city laid out at her feet, a palpable hunger thrumming under her skin, in her blood, in the slow relentless tap of her fingers on the concrete. 

Hunger and want were not qualities that Hee-jae traditionally liked in people. He’d been raised to think of them as vain, and worse still, indecorous. His love for Yong-un was at least partly based on Yong-un’s complete disinterest in any advantage Hee-jae could offer; he openly disdained the relentless brown-nosing of and by Atty Ma at Song & Kim and privately vowed to do away with it all when he took over. 

He briefly took up with a widowed heiress post Hee-sun; an exceedingly terrible idea on both their parts. She was a society wife who had taken over her father’s company following a corruption controversy that’d lit up the newspapers and TV channels. The experience had unlocked something ferocious and desperate in her. 

She once lit a cigarette after they were done in bed; and lay back, blowing smoke rings past him; her haunted, faraway eyes glittering in the scant light as she declared, _I want more_. She didn’t mean him; that much was clear, and he didn’t ask what she meant. It should have felt the same; it had the same signposts and markers of desire, thinly-veiled contempt and anger, but it felt like planets away from what he knew and loved. 

Jung Geum-ja’s hunger felt elemental. He didn’t precisely understand why; he wasn’t certain even Geum-ja knew or understood it. It was perhaps that it was not directed at anything obtainable; it seemed to want things that did not exist and for which no name existed. It seeped under his skin too, and it made him wonder if perhaps it was her way of possessing him even when she didn’t want him. 

“Hey, you’re still around.” 

“I was. I thought you left,” she said, checking the time as she took a swig. 

“No, I was practising,” he gestured at her. 

She frowned at him. “Ballroom dancing?” 

“I very clearly meant the violin,” he replied, pleased to see the grin on her face. “I met Assemblyman Woo today. Not a fan of yours, unfortunately.” 

She snorted. “He doesn’t have to be to give us business,” she replied. “You secured it?” 

“I’d rather be in court, any day, than in lunches and dinners like that,” he admitted. 

Geum-ja shrugged at that. “It’s the same thing, isn’t it? Persuading people you don’t like that you’re right? That you’re the best choice? You don’t think it’s the same?” 

“Do you enjoy it?” 

She frowned briefly in thought, then turned to him. “Is that a useful way of looking at it? It was about survival at first.”

He nodded. “Well, how is it now?”

Geum-ja took a sip from her mug. “Strangely, it doesn’t feel any different now than it did at the beginning.”

They were quiet for a beat, and then Geum-ja spoke again. ”I wanted to ask. Did you go to school with the ex-fiancee of Director Park Sung-ho?”

He frowned at the segue. It almost seemed too purposeful to be a coincidence. “Funny, Gi-hyeok was talking about him just a few days ago. Mi-young and I went to law school together.” 

She looked contemplative, as though she was weighing something. “Any idea why she broke it off?” 

Hee-jae shrugged; they hadn’t been close enough. Director Park was a few years ahead of him in high school - shot put champion in his division when Hee-jae played football; but that was too tenuous a connection for them to have run in the same circles. “Do you want me to find out?

“If you can,” she said with a noncommittal shrug. He wanted to ask if it was for anything -- romantic; putting this together with Gi-hyeok’s stupid gossip the other day was discomfiting.

She cast her gaze to the side, rather than back at him. “Is it true, what Yu-mi said?” 

He sighed, settling into one of the armchairs. “No having secrets when Gi-hyeok and Yu-mi are around, I suppose.” 

A beat of silence lingered overlong and awkward, and then Geum-ja cleared her throat. 

“Don’t be lonely,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “It doesn’t suit you.” 

He squared his shoulders. “Does it suit you, then?” 

She looked out at the view, a hand in her pocket, not answering the question. 

Hee-jae rose from his chair and leaned against the balcony wall next to her. The cool air whittled away at his hair. He looked away from her as he spoke. 

“After everything -- you know, with Ha Chan-ho,” he gestured expansively, “I wanted you to suffer. I wanted you to feel the way I did.” 

She didn’t move an inch; her face didn’t change perceptibly. Her fingers tightened briefly on the concrete, glowing pale against the grey. “And now?” 

The truth of it was that she was far more cruel to herself than he could ever be to her; but that wasn’t what he wanted to say in the moment. 

“You’re not meant to be alone either, Jung Geum-ja,” he replied, watching as she nodded absently and walked away. 

\---

Google offered surprisingly little of Clarice’s private life, but her artistic life was well-documented. She wasn’t the hottest pop star in the country; Gi-hyeok was definitely exaggerating on that count. That title surely went to a more family-friendly, broadly appealing woman, neither of which was her remit. 

Her most recent music video had her provocatively curling up with what appeared to be a Bengal tiger, its oddly graceful paw against her mouth, brushing her lips apart. It invited several pearl-clutching Television Council complaints for implying bestiality, showing an excess of tattoos and being generally depraved. 

Her father ran a shipping conglomerate - a client of Song & Kim, he recalled as much - and she had three siblings in the family business. She graduated from Berklee and embarked on a career in some sort of fusion opera-rock-pop. She was on her third album, had completed a world tour and played muse to Alexander Wang while on break in between albums two and three. 

If she at all dated, there was very little publicly available about it. She’d been photographed with two partners; one, an executive at her father’s company and the other, an architect. 

Hee-jae couldn’t honestly say he was interested. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t moderately flattered; but he didn’t lead the kind of life where being seen with the right people mattered much - he didn’t socialise much outside of Choong, and maybe Gi-hyeok. All that was left was curiosity; he had little advantage to offer someone so fabulously wealthy and walled-off from social conventions, so what was her angle? 

\---

He met her at a bar so private it looked like a provision shop from the outside; Clarice’s manager had given him a password and a name to use at the front door. Privacy was paramount to her client, intoned the manager as she briefed him on the details of the meeting. 

“Did you come from court?” asked Clarice, calling over the barman. She wore a surprisingly conservative dress with heels; (“I just came out of a meeting with the record label”); together, they must have looked like a pair of awful corporate vultures. 

“I did,” he replied. It’d been a few hours earlier, and he had the time, but no inclination, to change. “Do you have to dress formally to meet with your label?” It seemed like a polite question to ask in return. 

The barman brought over their drinks; he was surprised to find his to be whiskey. Hers was a clear liquid; he guessed it to be vodka.

“It’s what you were drinking that day,” she shrugged. “To answer your question, I don’t _have_ to do anything for the label. It’s how I prefer to present myself when I’m talking business. Speaking of business, I didn’t think you would call.” 

“That can’t be a feeling you get often.” 

“Well, no,” she said, sounding surprised by that. “I was intrigued by your background check. There’s nothing you can get out of me, is there? You’re very appealing from that perspective. I usually don’t find myself in that position.” 

He nodded wryly, pleasantly surprised by her frankness. “I don’t think I have anything you want, either. What are you looking for?” 

She lazily tilted the glass, eyes narrowed. “Sex with as few attachments as possible. Most crucially, without getting jealous of the fact that you’re not the only one. Are you really not in a relationship? I don’t really mind, but it’s a personal principle I try to stick to, no matter how hot someone is,” she enquired, gesturing at his midsection for some reason. 

Hee-jae had originally agreed to this with little real intent; he’d been curious, and that was the sum of it. She asked for no emotional investment, was completely transactional and seemed actively disinterested in him as a romantic partner. The thought was oddly freeing. 

He took a sip of the Talisker, finally feeling at ease. “I probably wouldn’t have called back if I was.”

“What a very lawyerly answer, Mr Yoon,” she commented, checking her Blackberry. “You should have the waivers and a non-disclosure agreement in your inbox now, if you can sign them?” 

He reached for a pen, then, and shook his head. “I’m still getting used to DocuSign,” he explained. “I should -- at least buy a round. What are you having?” 

“Water,” she replied, not batting an eyelid. “I could get that at home. I have your Talisker at home too.” 

He looked quizzically at her. “My body is a temple,” she stated, slightly affronted, and at his questing gaze, she tsked and pulled aside her sleeve very casually, revealing the pale, unmarked skin of her decolletage and down to the top of her chest. “I won’t think too lowly of you for watching _that_ music video, it’s the one I’m most proud of. The tattoos were fake. I did not actually fuck a tiger. Would you like to know anything else?” 

Hee-jae took a second sip of his Talisker. “Is it your favourite because it got the most complaints?”

She smirked at him, then pressed close with one coal-black thumbnail on the knot of his tie. “Who gets to put their teenage fantasies of tiger-fucking in a music video and get paid for it?” She took the glass right out of his hand, finished the remainder with one dainty gulp. 

He had no choice to follow as she took his hand and pulled him to the exit. “What happened to my ‘body is a temple’?” 

“I’ll be an apostate for a night,” she said with an outrageous grin. 

\---

Clarice had him pressed against the door of her room; his jacket and tie had long since been tossed near the doorway of her apartment, by the life-sized artwork of Freddie Mercury - 

(“Warhol’s _never_ done that,” he’d said, a little breathless. “I’d have _known_ , I would have read about it -- or seen it --” 

“Well, it’ll be on loan in six months to the National Museum, so you can read about it then,” she’d said, unlooping his tie with careless hands.) 

“Oh, I’d ask if you could lift me, but we just met,” she said with a sigh. 

She started unbuttoning his shirt when he suddenly felt thrown back by the force of her forearm slamming across his neck and shoulder; even like this, sleeve fallen off and hair a mess, she was still in total control.

“You said you weren’t married,” she stated, dangerously calm. 

He tried to shrug her arm off, but there was no give. (Later, when he got his breath back, he had to ask about her fitness regime. And her lawyers.) “I’m not married, oh my _god_.” 

With her free hand, she lifted the chain hanging low on his sternum, where Geum-ja’s rings clinked against each other. They were usually concealed by shirts and ties; but like this, they were impossible to hide or explain away. He had all but forgotten that he wore them. 

“I’m not married,” he repeated, breathless and coughing. Her hand relaxed fractionally. 

“If you were married, I don’t think you’d be stupid enough to wear them like that,” she stated, finally breathless from the adrenaline. 

It was at that moment that he understood something, in the eaves of another woman’s body, feeling her skin and her perspiration, the friction of her dress against his suit - that Yoon Hee-jae understood something with the sudden crystal clarity of an open third eye - that love was _real_. It was awful and gut-rending and it left a vacancy in him that nothing would likely ever fill, but it was wrenchingly real. 

He was not a man of many faiths; he might dabble, but his true north rested in the heart and body of someone else. It didn’t matter if she presented as Kim Hee-sun or Jung Geum-ja; it probably never did, and her departure would always be a lingering ache that refused any comfort, because the lingering ache _was_ the comfort - that she existed, that she’d loved him too, more than she would ever know, and that in leaving him, had made a significant sacrifice. 

But he also knew that if he were to learn any lesson at all from any of this, it was that an infinite loop of self-inflicted cruelty between him and Jung Geum-ja was unsustainable. Not everything had to be transcendental; if he could get joy from this, and perhaps give it to someone else - then he could do that. In time, she might learn to be less cruel to herself.

He took control, then, taking Clarice by the hips and flipping her back on the door - he understood the point of the shoes now, it was for leverage - and relished that sharp intake of breath and the darkening of her eyes. “Even if we just met,” he said, with a grin as he hitched her up, “I think I could still lift you.” 

They fucked against the door like that - half-fistfight, half-marathon; Hee-jae brushed his knuckles past her throat, then a thumb down her lower lip - an imitation of what he saw in the music video - and she must have liked it, because she went slack in his arms and her eyes fluttered shut. 

\---

Yoon Hee-jae was only mildly startled when he started to notice Boo Hyeon-a at his gym. 

It wasn’t entirely unusual. Her firm rented in the same building as Choong, just a few floors below, so the proximity to work was probably just as convenient for her. She was there almost every other day, and she trained with a tough old man who had the manner of an army instructor and the voice of a doomsday documentary narrator. 

“Wow, she’s really pretty,” said one of the gym bunnies next to him on the treadmill as Hyeon-a high-kicked with her trainer. Of course, this man picked the treadmill right next to Hee-jae’s in an empty gym - it was pretty late in the night - and had the overly triangular look of someone who frequently skipped leg day. 

He didn’t so much as change his pace. “Stop ogling the women, take the treadmill at the other end of the gym and maybe go easy on the tricep curls,” he commented, feeling mean as he slammed the treadmill to a stop and got off. 

Hyeon-a finished then, and of course that woman shunned all the high fashion athleisure for the team T-shirt she wore to hockey practice in high school. Which she could still fit into. “Yoon-byun,” she greeted with a smile, mopping her sweaty forehead and looking lovely still. The unfairness of it all. “How are you?” 

“Just getting in some cardio,” he replied. “Are you training for something? That looked intense.”

Her smile fell a little, then went overbright, as if to compensate. “Nothing in particular,” she said. “Just improving my stamina. Are you heading back to the office?” 

He nodded. “I still have some work to clear. We can walk back together if you’d like.” 

\---

Jung Geum-ja went to dinners; she went out for drinks and then to play golf - a game that, to his knowledge, she actively hated - with Director Park. She was careful throughout not to be seen at the office with him, nor anywhere nearby, which only made her movements more mysterious. 

“Where is she today?” 

Ji-eun looked up at him, and with not a shred of loyalty, spilt the beans. “Lunch with Director Park. He had a sudden craving for Japanese,” she supplied, not without a hint of distaste . 

“They’re not actually dating, are they?” 

Ji-eun’s eyes went wide in surprise, perhaps not expecting him to be that direct. “I’m given to understand that it’s not dating,” she said with some caution. 

“But not business?” he pressed on. 

Ji-eun tilted her head at him very, very slowly. “I’m -- given to understand that it isn’t dating,” she repeated plaintively. _Don’t ask me more than I can say, I can say it’s not dating, but I can’t tell you it’s not entirely business._

“What is it if it isn’t dating but not entirely business?” 

Her face looked almost pleading. “Mr Yoon, I can’t say any more than that.” 

Maybe Mi-young would shed some light on it, he thought with some disquiet as he walked away. 

\---

“I must say, I was surprised you emailed, let alone remembered me from law school,” commented Mi-young with pursed lips, followed by a purposefully dainty sip of her flat white. 

They met for coffee near Mi-young’s office. She worked as a legal adviser for a health firm and therefore looked like she got a full eight hours’ sleep every day and led a healthy lifestyle, but something about her seemed perpetually dissatisfied. 

“We were classmates, after all,” he replied, all company manners. “Have you been well?” 

“Yes, but in those years the only person who could turn your head was Kwon Yong-un,” she replied, not entirely pleasantly. It didn’t carry malice; but there was an old resentment that he’d unwittingly dredged up. 

Mi-young’s father had been a top administrative official who’d lost a significant chunk of the family’s wealth on horses and women just before Mi-young entered university. The family escaped total financial ruin only thanks to her mother’s moderately well-off means, but never really recovered socially. Her father was nowhere to be seen at the clubs - where he otherwise played golf and joked around with the judges - and he was no longer invited to the Yoon family home. 

He’d been introduced to her once in university; they’d had lunch, or perhaps coffee. Hee-jae remembered very little of it or her in retrospect; they hadn’t really hit it off, for some reason.

“It’s fine,” she shrugged, as though he’d apologised. “It probably wouldn’t have gone anywhere. So, what’s the matter?” 

“You were engaged to Director Park, right?” 

Her entire body seized up at that, and just as swiftly, she settled back into her resentful calm. “Wow,” she said with a humourless laugh, “You really called me here to ask about gossip?”

The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think. “I don’t follow gossip; that wasn’t my purpose in asking.”

“Listen,” she said, jaw working furiously. “We have to make do, alright? It’s _fine_ for you handsome, smart types with your fancy family name and all that money.” Her words spilled out messily, without the planned, carefully restrained beats of her earlier rancour. 

Yoon Hee-jae knew the importance of his next few words. He had a gamble to make here, he was close to certain but he had to know for sure. 

“It’s not that fancy anymore, is it? I’m not asking for me; I’m asking for a friend, someone whose safety and happiness is very important to me. If you have information that can help her, I’d be grateful that you ever gave me - and her - the time of the day. If not - that’s fine too. We can reminisce and you can forget I ever asked the question. What it is certainly not, to me,” he emphasised, intent and careful, “is gossip. I’d ask our other classmates at the club or the bar room. I wouldn’t ask you directly.”

Her eyes briefly softened at that, and just as swiftly, the shutters came up again. “It just didn’t work out,” she said, almost apologetically. “I have to go, I’m sorry I can’t say more,” she finished, muttering about a meeting under her breath, and skittered off out of the coffee-shop. 

Hee-jae contemplated the swiftness with which the strangeness of this situation was escalating; he didn’t have a good feeling about any of it, and especially not about whatever Geum-ja was up to. He didn’t think it was a romantic interest - instinctively that just felt wrong, somehow - but that didn’t lessen the sense of dread in him. 

\---

A giant bouquet of flowers arrived the following week; an ostentatious spread of roses, ranunculus, freesias and hydrangeas; Ji-eun had it disposed of almost immediately, but the smell lingered in the hallways, nauseating and relentless. 

\---

He was having a drink with Clarice near the office. It was unusual, but she had a contract for a show she was giving in Paris and wanted a second opinion on the French clauses. She flipped through a magazine as he read over the paperwork, drink in hand. 

That was when he finally met Director Park face to face - beyond a voice in another room; a shadowy presence in the hallways. 

“Well, Yoon-byunhosanim, we finally meet,” said Director Park, with an excessively wide smile that didn’t reach his eyes and a drink in his hand that sloshed around the rim of his glass. “And Miss Clarice, I’m a big fan. I plan to run for election soon,” he said by way of introduction. 

Hee-jae knew he could be sharp with new faces; he’d never cultivated Hyeok-jae’s patience or politeness for it. Clarice, on the other hand, was pure arrogance on steroids when she was so inclined. 

She didn’t appear to have heard him, firstly, and when he cleared his throat, she flipped the page of the Economist with a disdainful finger and looked up at him with almost somatic disinterest. “And?” 

Hee-jae’s first - horrible instinct - was to laugh, because he found it amusing, but kept his face in check as far as he could. “Something funny, Mr Yoon?” asked Director Park, looking a little irritated. 

“No, not at all. Anything I can do for you, Director Park,” he asked, recovering as smoothly as he could. “Although I’m occupied at the moment, as you can tell.” 

“ _Oh_ ,” said Director Park, “Well, that’s a relief for me, I suppose! I kept thinking there must be something going on between you and Ms Jung. She’s always said no, but it never sounded convincing. Unrequited, maybe?” 

Hee-jae wasn’t familiar with rage. It was a function of a comfortable life, with accommodations made without question. Director Park was nothing - nobody, in the scheme of his life, certainly not someone significant enough to put him in that position. And yet, he felt perilously close to violence. 

Clarice shut the magazine with visible irritation. It was a signal of sorts, because she slipped her sunshades on; her bodyguards materialised seemingly out of nowhere to escort her and Hee-jae. 

Director Park threw his hands up in mock surrender then, a man clearly not used to taking defeat or embarrassment with grace. His laughter was forced and uneasy as he let them pass; it made the hairs stand on the back of Hee-jae’s neck as he walked away, and he was hard-pressed to make the ill-feeling disappear even as he went back to Clarice’s. 

\---

It was at the gym the next day - pounding the treadmill with prejudice, sweat flying off his skin as he tried to string his thoughts together - that the penny finally dropped. The jealousy directed at him, for some strange reason; Mi-young’s response when he brought up Director Park’s name; and finally, the idea that her interactions were not dating, but not exactly business. 

He was still in his gym clothes, cutoff top, shorts and exercise shoes when he stormed back into the office. The receptionist looked alarmed; associates scurried away to avoid him. He walked past Ji-eun - who, to her credit, did not look shocked or attempt to karate-throw him - banged on her door and opened it without waiting. 

“What,” he asked, politely as he could for someone who was red in the face, “in the _fucking hell_ do you think you’re doing?” 

She was in a dark tracksuit, legs folded in her chair. She didn’t flinch - she never did - because he didn’t have that kind of hold over her, and he was glad of it. Even now, as his rage bubbled over, she simply fixed him with a hard look.

“Do you want to elaborate?” she asked, with a slow blink. 

“Director Park,” he said, hands clenched on her visitor chair. 

She had an arch expression on her face. “Hee-jae, when a man and a woman like each other - like you and Clarice, I’m sure - “

“You’re putting yourself out as bait, aren’t you? Am I right?” 

Her face changed then, like she hadn’t calculated this possibility. “Oh for _fuck’s sake,_ ” she swore, unusually for her. “I can assure you, I’m not in any danger.” 

“Are you out of your mind? Director Park is not a petty criminal from your salad days. He’s not waiting for you in a dark alley like a common thug. That man has power. If you cross him, he’ll come after your _secrets.”_

\---


	2. the ocean where I unravel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jung Geum-ja had to admit: when Yoon Hee-jae was angry, he was perversely also at his most attractive.

Jung Geum-ja had to admit: when Yoon Hee-jae was angry, he was perversely also at his most attractive.

“You have nothing to worry about,” she said with all the calm of a gambler at gunpoint. 

As if all the air had leapt out of his sails, he sat down in her visitor chair and exhaled. “He approached me last night, at a bar, when I was with Clarice.” 

Geum-ja felt - briefly - the blood rush from her face. She could only surmise that she hadn’t accounted for all the possibilities. Like Park Sung-ho being more of an absolute idiot than he let on. 

“Did he cause any trouble?” she asked evenly, looking back at her computer screen. 

He looked puzzled, then narrowed his eyes. “There were bodyguards around us. Even if he did -” 

“ _She_ has bodyguards. You exercise to look good in suits,” she interjected as kindly as she could. 

He looked offended and confused at that. “He’s not just a potential client, is he? What is going on?” 

She ran her hands through her hair, trying to work out how much she could tell him. “He’s not,” she confirmed. “He wanted to be one, but I’ve been turning him down. He’s not taking no for an answer. He’ll give up eventually; it’s not worth the trouble.” 

His eyes turned flinty at that. “He wants you to clean up the skeletons in his closet. But it’s not just work, is it? He’s interested in you. Are _you_ safe?”

This sort of conversation always went easier with women, because they understood men like Park Sung-ho far more intimately than the men around them. “Men like him don’t have romantic interests; they don’t engage that way. They want to know they can own people, that they can move you around like a chess piece. He might think it’s what I want to be persuaded to do his dirty work.” 

He blinked at that rapidly. “If you have someone willing to come forward, this is a job for the police and the courts,” he said, with a tone of finality in his voice. “We’ve been down this road before.”

She met his gaze. “That’s not what I’m trying to do here.” 

“You’re not the old Jung Geum-ja anymore,” he said, matter-of-fact. “You’re not free to do that now. It’s the price of all of this,” he said, voice breaking a little as he waved his hand around them. “It’s how he’ll get you if you’re not careful.” 

His face was filled with not a little bit of fear. Fear for her or of her, she wasn’t sure at this moment. Perhaps it didn’t make a difference. 

“Do you object to the principle of it?” 

He tilted his head and frowned. “You _know_ I don’t. You know that’s not it.” 

“If I have made any capital since then,” she mused, leaning back, “this is what I choose to use it for. It isn’t about balancing books. Can you see that? Is that easier to understand?” 

He looked away and paused for a moment. It was unusual for them to be so quiet in each other’s company. 

His voice was firm when he spoke. “I trust you. I’m here if you need anything,” he said, then rose to leave.

“We didn’t come this far to squander it on this man, Yoon,” she assured him. 

“And if you put your safety at risk, I won’t hesitate to call a partnership vote to put an end to it,” he concluded as he reached the door. His tone was lighter than the words suggested, but she knew his words were deadly true. 

“Yoon-byun?” she called out. 

He turned back then, quizzical. 

“Your point is taken,” she conceded. “But men like that will never not be waiting in a back alley.” 

Hee-jae paused briefly, as if to take that in, and then nodded before he walked away. 

_ A few months earlier _

It was the third or fourth “Women in Business” seminar that Geum-ja had to grace with her sparkling wit and the endurance of someone who had to attend an unironically-titled “Women in Business” seminar. 

To top it off, Boo Hyeon-a was being annoying. 

“I am not going to ask what’s going on-” 

“Good,” Geum-ja cut her off. 

“Why did you break it off?” asked Hyeon-a.

Geum-ja said nothing in reply, but Hyeon-a’s twinkling eyes were persistent. 

“Firstly, you assume there was something there to break, and secondly, why do you conclude that _if there was_ , I was the one to break it off?” 

Hyeon-a gave her a Look. “He’s dating popstars and learning the violin. Also, he’s him and you’re...you.” 

“Sexual jealousy isn’t my forte, Boo-byun. Besides, you should have stuck your beautiful nails in when you had the chance,” she purred. 

Any mention of sex usually sent most people running, but Hyeon-a was not most people and was thus frustratingly undeterred. 

“I’m spoken for now, and I sense he has always been,” she replied easily, “but pray tell: what kind of jealousy _is_ your forte?” 

Geum-ja completely ignored the question. She stood with Hyeon-a by the stairs to the lectern, smiling at the occasional starry-eyed young businesswoman. There was one girl at the back, by the doors, who stared straight at Geum-ja; she looked familiar, but Geum-ja couldn’t place her. 

“I don’t understand the purpose of ‘Women in Business’,” she commented. “Go watch the men, learn how they do it and then beat them at their game. That’s how it’s done. Not by listening to me.” 

Boo Hyeon-a sighed at that, long-suffering. “I’ve explained to you numerous -- _numerous_ times, that you have an appeal with young women that you should really leverage. One of these girls could be the next big CEO, and you could be the voice in her _ear_ -”

Geum-ja rolled her eyes - “the _queenmaker_ , the -- _consigliere --_ ” - “That actually sounds appealing. I wouldn’t mind being a mafia lawyer,” she said, taking a sip of her drink.

“Jung-byun, it’s just one seminar every quarter. They _adore_ you. It’s the most highly-subscribed of all the events in this seminar -” 

Geum-ja makes a gagging sound at that. 

“- and I’ve been asked if you’re single, it’s _nuts_ , but I suppose that’s not something you -”

“Wait, what? They want to know if I’m _single_?” 

Hyeon-a coolly sipped her chai latte. “You exude a certain energy,” she said, gesturing vaguely and leaving Geum-ja none the wiser. 

“Do you know the girl at the back?” asked Geum-ja. “She’s been staring at us for a while now.” 

Hyeon-a stood on tiptoes. “No. Maybe she’s trying to figure out if you’re single.” 

Geum-ja poked her gently with her elbow in reprimand; Hyeon-a merely cackled in response. 

\---

The crowds filtered out after Geum-ja was done speaking, and the same girl stood by the doors, as if working up the nerve to ask a question. 

Geum-ja stopped right in front of her. “Do we know each other?”

She had a familiar face, with a beautiful round nose that most girls would have tried to sharpen with a bit of choice rhinoplasty. Her black dress gave off a polyester sheen and was creased from public transit. No, this girl was not like the others here. Not old-money, not even new money, but she had a resolute, firm face, like she’d come there with a goal in mind all the same. 

“You might have known my mother,” she said, wavering a little, as if to find the right discreet words to use. “From the -- old neighbourhood,” and then the coin dropped for Jung Geum-ja. 

“Come,” she said. “I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.” 

\---

Ji-young was very, very young when Jung Geum-ja left the old neighbourhood, but she seemed far older than her years. She sat hunched in her chair, bent over her cup of tea and looking at Geum-ja only occasionally. 

“I’m sorry to come to you like this,” she said, soft and a little submissive. “But I am really not sure who else to go to.” 

Geum-ja gestured for her to carry on. 

“I did really well in school, Ms Jung, and -- I really wanted to work in the government, you see. I met this man -- Director Park -- at this exhibition, at school -- so I thought I would ask to intern with him again after university. He was really kind then. Some of the others didn’t really even want to talk to us. He wasn’t like that,” she recounted with a wistful smile, twisting her fingers in her lap. 

Geum-ja tried to recall who Director Park might be, but she came up short. She’d ask Ji-eun later. “Not a good experience?” 

Her lip and hand trembled; tea sloshed over the rim of her cup. “I thought -- I thought he was just strict, you know? Some people are. It’s fine. He flung a book at me because I made -- a typo. You know?” she said, a slight manic laugh bubbling through. “It was the Criminal Procedure of Korea. I’m sorry. Anyway, it was just day upon day of this, humiliating me for my background, my lack of refinement, my stupidity, throwing books -- I was lucky, he once threw a _stapler_ at his secretary.” 

Geum-ja’s grip on her cup hardened. “What do you want from me, Ji-young?” 

“I don’t know, Ms Jung. Perhaps I just wanted to tell someone that story. You probably have better things to do,” she said, looking away. “My boyfriend says I should just teach at our neighbourhood school, rather than work in the city. I might just do that. I don’t really want to work in government anymore.” 

Geum-ja barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Does he work in the neighbourhood too?” 

She nodded. 

On very, very strange days, Geum-ja was perversely glad that her early life had been beset by large, aggressive cruelties. She’d gone over the edge of the cliff; if you fell and survived, there was so little in life that truly frightened you anymore. There were no more rules after that point. You got to make them up, and she had, inch by fucking inch. 

Common, everyday horrors kept you close to the edge, just close enough that you complied, because you were so afraid of falling off the edge that you stayed within your boundaries, accepted your cruelties and were glad for the smallness of them. 

“So you plan to drop dead, then,” said Geum-ja softly, and Ji-young flinched, like electricity had passed through her. “He threw a book at you and you’re just going to be grateful it wasn’t a _stapler_ , and you’re going to teach at the _neighbourhood school_. You went to SNU. That’s a tough school. And now, you want to drop dead.” 

“It isn’t like that --” she said, then cut herself off, seemingly unsure about how to finish her sentence. 

Geum-ja checked her phone, then passed a card to Ji-young. 

“Make an appointment with Ji-eun. I’m not pulling strings for you - you’ll persuade people to hire you, just on your grades, but not like this, looking like you’ve been beaten. You have, but you haven’t, do you understand me? Ji-eun will tell you what to do, and who to see. That’s all I can do,” she said, rising up from the chair.

For the first time, Ji-young’s face looked like there might be life in it yet. “Ms Jung, thank you -”

Jung Geum-ja gripped the top of the chair she just vacated, looking at Ji-young eye-to-eye. “You want to thank me? Drop the boyfriend,” she finished, sauntering out of the coffeeshop. 

After all, small cruelties came in many different forms. 

\---

Director Park Sung-ho was from a middle-class family; he’d gone to KAIST on a government scholarship, and then quickly rose up the ranks in the Ministry for Trade. He was just in his early forties, marked for politics and had the bright, shining connections to pull it off despite his ordinary upbringing. It probably didn’t hurt that he had the strapping, brick shithouse look of a man who’d been shotput champion all throughout his varsity years. 

“I’ve been trying to get a meeting with your firm for months, now,” he commented, his indulgent expression at odds with the peevish tone. “You’re a hard lady to get in touch with, Ms Jung.” 

(Ji-eun had indeed spoken to him a number of times, politely given him Hee-jae’s contact and left it at that. “Wait, you _want_ to meet him?” she’d said, trying to hide the surprise in her voice. “I wouldn’t have thought-” she trailed off. 

“Oh, I’m just curious,” Geum-ja had said absent-mindedly. “He’s been asking for me?” 

Ji-eun nodded. “Very, very insistent that it had to be you, and not Mr Yoon.”) 

As a rule, Geum-ja didn’t take dinner meetings unless it was with an old client, but Park Sung-ho had been very persistent about it. He took his time, ordering a course at a time and lingering over his food as Geum-ja sped through hers. If he noticed, he unsurprisingly paid it no mind.

“Director Park. Government types rarely come to me,” she said frankly. “Mr Yoon handles those clients; he’s a better fit for them than I tend to be. That’s something you would have been told beforehand. To still insist,” she mused, with a sip of water and a sideways smile, “that’s a little strange to me. It sounds like you’re not really looking for a lawyer to do policy or any sort of government-related work.” 

Park Sung-ho smiled then, a wide, Cheshire cat grin. It was made for the distant gaze of a crowd or a millisecond-long look at a newspaper, above the fold. In person, however, it felt too bright, like a hot, overexposed light bulb. “I have certain -- inconveniences - that I’d like your expertise to manage,” he said, in the manner of someone sharing a silly secret as he delicately dotted steak sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Ha Chan-ho-sshi highly recommended your talents to me.” 

She chuckled lightly. “This is all a bit mysterious, Director Park.” _Come right out and say it, jackass,_ she thought. 

“Really? Ha Chan-ho rings no bells for you, Ms Jung,” he commented, amused. 

“My partner successfully defended him against a murder charge,” she replied blithely. “You don’t seem like you’ve got a dead body problem, and even if you did, you should be talking to Mr Yoon, not me.” 

Director Park’s face changed then; his smile faded just a touch, as if he’d been thrust into a new game and didn’t quite appreciate it.

They circled each other like a pair of sharks. Park Sung-ho was no idiot, but he’d also been very, very lucky; she wondered if he was going to be put up for election sooner rather than later and had been told to get his affairs in order. 

“Oh, Ms Jung. I feel as though you understand me, but for some reason you’re holding back. I’d be very grateful for your help, and if things go well for us, I can introduce you to others who might need your services. Soon,” he reassured her, with a smile. 

\---

They walked down to the carpark together; nothing but echoes of distant beeps and pockets of darkness between rows of cars. His shoes tapped gently against the concrete and he whistled an old pop tune. 

In this carpark, alone at night and with a man easily twice her size, Jung Geum-ja did not feel afraid, not in the least. She knew the worst of this man. Conversely, Park Sung-ho had not the faintest idea what she was made of; no clue that here, she was the danger. 

There was a stray two-by-four lying against a wall; she could do some actual damage with it, but she didn’t need it to hurt him. Her blood ran hot at the thought of it, and she rolled her neck around to loosen the muscles and let some of that energy dissipate through her body. She might need a run or a good stiff drink when she got home. 

“May I walk you to your car, first?” he asked, all polite chivalry, breaking her reverie. 

“I have a terrible memory, I’m afraid. I couldn’t possibly allow you to wander about with me to find my car. Please go ahead first,” she said, bowing. 

“That makes me feel very ungentlemanly, but fine. Will you be safe?” he asked, eyes sharp in the lights as he shook her hand. 

Her smile was bright and cheerful. “Oh, I’m sure I can scream loud enough should the need arise. Good night, Mr Park.” 

\---

The bouquet arrived the next morning, a conspicuously large one with a variety of flowers. She had Ji-eun dispose of it immediately. The flowers didn’t stop; neither did the invitations to lunch, to dinner, to the golf club (a game she actively hated for the lack of activity). 

She knew she could say no - and had in fact been doing so - but she was also curious, in the manner of someone dispassionately observing nature. How far was he going to go, and what was he willing to do to get it? 

He forced the question himself, merely two weeks later, when the receptionist came to her looking a little tense. “I’m sorry, madam, he’s refusing to leave. Insists on waiting for you even though I told him you are busy and your secretary is unavailable.” Ji-eun was studying for some exams in the firm library one floor up. 

“You could have called to make an appointment, Director Park,” she said coolly as she came upon him at the reception. “I don’t really appreciate people turning up at my office unannounced. I do have clients, as you can imagine, and other work to do.” 

He put down his newspaper, casual as he pleased. “Oh, I just was in the neighbourhood, and I thought I’d see what you might be up to. May I take you to dinner?”

“I’m not available, Director Park. I’m sorry you came up here for nothing,” she stated, not feeling very sorry at all. 

He smiled, that usual, overly wide grin of his, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “I would like to speak to you privately for a moment, if that’s fine.” 

Geum-ja led the way to her office, checking the other rooms subtly to see who was around. It was late; Hee-jae’s office was empty. That was fine, she thought. The less interference she had, the better. 

“Have you been making enquiries about me, Jung-byun?” he asked, arms folded and still standing despite her gestures to take a seat. 

She didn’t blink. “I have to do my due diligence, Director Park. It’s standard for us.” 

“I don’t think I appreciate you going behind my back like that, though,” he said, with a humourless laugh. “I thought we were friends,” he said, walking towards her. “You could have just asked me.” 

“I like to have my multiple sources,” she said, finger poised on the button under her table. “You can ask any of our existing clients. It’s what we do.”

He nodded, a long, repeated motion that felt somewhat artificial. “On the contrary- I’ve told you too much. Maybe you should decide now if you’d like to work for me.”

Geum-ja couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Mr Park, I’ve been telling you for weeks that I am not going to do that. It’s not really my problem that you seem incapable of understanding women when they say ‘no’.”

Her aim was true; his face twitched, then, contorting into an angry mess, and he lurched for her. 

Geum-ja did not move an inch. 

_Make it a good one_ , she thought, calm as the eye of a storm as she bore down, moving with the back of Park Sung-ho’s hand as she’d learned to do as a child - 

Someone barreled through the doors and caught his arm, twisting it backwards as he screamed; someone else had him down on the floor within a matter of seconds. A flurry of black jackets, arms efficiently working to ensure they safely neutralised Mr Park and had him on the ground. Security couldn’t have been that fast, she thought distantly, and Hee-jae wasn’t in the office --

His inarticulate yelling receded to the background, and the gorgeous, bell voice of Boo Hyeon-a rang clear in the air. “I’ve called security, jackass, _stay the fuck down_. Ji-eun, all good? Sunbae, are you -” 

Ji-eun nodded at Hyeon-a and Hyeon-a tightened her hold on Park Sung-ho’s arm. 

Geum-ja drew near and security burst through the door, removing Director Park from her room and out the door of the office. She saw Mr Kim on the phone and the security team outside; she’d leave him and Ju-ho to sort him out for the time being. 

Hyeon-a and Ji-eun had collapsed onto her couch, looking as though the truth of what happened had just started to settle in them. Geum-ja waved off security, then armed all her alarms before she went back to them with a glass of water in each hand. 

She crouched in front of them, placing the glasses by the side table. 

“I won’t apologise,” said Hyeon-a, shaking her head. “We were so worried about you -- I’ve heard _stories_ -” despite being the calmer of the two, Ji-eun made a distressed sound, then clapped a hand over her mouth - “and I won’t apologise, because we were trying to protect you -” 

Hyeon-a’s eyes went wide and fingers reached out, noticing the bruise forming under Geum-ja’s eye, hovering as Ji-eun’s eyes went wide. “Boss, are you -- your _face_ -” 

Geum-ja takes Hyeon-a’s fingers and gently pushes them back to the couch. “This is nothing. Are you okay? Are either of you hurt?” Her voice was eerily soft and calm, like a car that had gone down two gears. She touched the soft, vulnerable inside of Hyeon-a’s arm. 

Ji-eun shook her head, and Hyeon-a spoke again, words flowing out faster than usual. “I was in the office, and Ji-eun told me he was here -- we weren’t worried about you at the golf club, or at a restaurant, he can’t do anything in the open -- he wouldn’t dare -- but here --” her voice broke, more from exhaustion than anything else - “Yi-jun’s on secondment and it’s just me and Ji-eun -- so I came right up and we were almost too late-- and I am _not sorry_ -”

Her right hand curled into the arm of Geum-ja’s sofa; Geum-ja kneeled, then covered Hyeon-a’s hand with her own. Hyeon-a’s fingers interlaced with hers, French tips digging ever so firmly into Geum-ja’s palm, leaving crescent marks in their wake. 

“You did just fine. I’m not going to ask anyone to apologise, okay?” 

A loud, rhythmic knock had all three of them look up sharply at the door. “It’s me,” Hee-jae said, sounding extremely smooth. It sounded like his court-room or TV voice. “Is everyone fine?” 

Geum-ja looked at them; they nodded in unison, so she called out at the door. “Come in.” 

Hee-jae opened the door gently, still in his suit and tie. 

His gaze cast over Geum-ja first, examining her face impassively. His eyes landed on Geum-ja’s and Hyeon-a’s interlinked hands; he then looked away as if he’d witnessed something far too intimate.

“I just spoke to Mr Kim. Security’s taken him out of the building. He’s not going to cause any more trouble tonight. If anyone needs a lift or wants company tonight, we can sort something out.”

Hyeon-a spoke. “My sister’s driving in soon. Ji-eun, do you want to come with us? It’s a secure building; you’ll feel safe.” 

Ji-eun looked like she’d recovered a fair bit faster than Hyeon-a. She was far more accustomed to this than Hyeon-a was. “I’m fine at home, I have a house full of siblings and they’re scarier than Mr Park,” she said with a light chuckle. Hyeon-a nodded, then walked out of the room to take a call. 

Geum-ja and Ji-eun had never really needed words. Her expression was distant, as if she was thinking of something in the past. She adjusted her glasses and gave Geum-ja a reassuring nod; it reminded Geum-ja of a younger Ji-eun, much too thin, with floppy hair and too-large spectacles that never sat properly on her face. 

They sent the girls off and decamped to the executive bathroom that neither of them used. It had a family room with a couch, ample space and locks for the use of new mothers, but at present it was used by vaping secretaries and the occasional tearful associate. 

Hee-jae had shed his jacket and tie, then rolled up his sleeves twice, and they leaned by the sink, where he deemed the lighting was best. 

“It looks worse than it is,” she said lightly to Hee-jae. It was a stock phrase that usually cut off any pity at the pass. 

Yoon Hee-jae was many things, but he wasn’t so easily fooled anymore. 

“That isn’t reassuring,” he replied, looking over the top of his spectacles. His fingers were tender on her chin, neatly tilting this way and that to fully look at the damage. “The skin isn’t broken, but that’s probably going to hurt more tomorrow.”

“I called for security,” she explained. 

“Probably late enough that he managed to get this in,” he replied calmly as he patted gel onto the bruise with his index finger. “Stay still for a moment.” 

“I’m not saying yes or no,” she stated. “Be gentle, that thing stings.”

“Good,” he replied, turning to the sink to wash his hands. “You don’t have to tell me either way, since I already know.”

She snorted at that. “Don’t go around telling people my secrets.” She patted around her pockets. “This is the problem with the cashless system. Not a single note to be found to give you so I can get attorney-client privilege.” 

Hee-jae washed his hands and looked at her carefully in the mirror. “Well, if you’ve been engaging in entrapment, I would still be obliged to disclose it. You know what’s foolproof?” 

Geum-ja frowned at that. “I could kill you?” 

He tsked at that, then dried his hands off before turning to look at her. 

“Murder or marriage, then,” and then his voice suddenly went ruinously gentle. “Oh, noona.”

She felt the strange trickle down her face; tasted the copper on her tongue. It hadn’t happened in years, she thought with some consternation, and his hands framed her face then, tilting her head back.

“Sit down,” he said, firmly pushing her towards the couch and pressing an impossibly soft handkerchief into her fingers. 

“How annoying,” she complained, rolling her eyes. He sat next to her, leaning his head back like she had. 

“I used to get these when I played football,” he admitted. “Imagine being that age and having these in front of someone you liked. It was awful.” 

She chuckled a little at the thought of a teenage Hee-jae trying to impress someone with his striking skills despite his talent being in midfield. Geum-ja didn’t know for certain, but she had a strong feeling about it. 

“This isn’t Ha Chan-ho, is it,” she said soberly, shaking her head gingerly. “I keep thinking about who it might be who sent him, who wants me to fix him. He said Ha Chan-ho, but that’s not it.”

Hee-jae concurred. “I don’t think so, either. Ha Chan-ho’s never had the interest, and he doesn’t have the resources now.” 

The tumblers of the lock finally clicked in place, and the doors opened. “I’m going to talk to her.” 

“I’m coming with you,” Hee-jae said. 

Geum-ja released his handkerchief, then touched the bridge of her nose. “Let’s end this tonight, shall we?” 

Ha Hye-won had a rule about meeting people less important than her; she sat, back ramrod straight, and waited for the other person to tell her what they were willing to offer her. 

Today, she looked like she had been pacing the room, dressed in a black pantsuit despite the late hour. Her jaw twitched noticeably when she saw Geum-ja emerge from the shadows. In Ha Hye-won terms, that was the real-person equivalent of a swear and a sharp inhale. 

(Geum-ja had, indeed, debated changing clothes, decided not to at the last minute. She’d checked herself in her mirror as she asked Hee-jae about it; he stared at the blood on her shirt, lip twitching every so slightly, and agreed with her. 

“No,” he’d said, looking away from her then. “Don’t.”)

“This is really Chan-ho’s mess,” she said abruptly, taking a long sip of her drink. 

“Ms Kim, Ms Ha,” she greeted, with a bow, then sat down. “Do tell.” 

“He’s a friend of Chan-ho’s who came running to me when I took over. I didn’t take him at face value, obviously, and I’ve never been a fan of sloppy seconds, especially Chan-ho’s.” 

Geum-ja waved her hands at that. “Oh, I’m sure you would have found a purpose for him if he was even moderately useful, sloppy seconds, women problems and all. Why me?” 

Hye-won had the grace to flinch at that. “He had what he presented to me as a mild PR problem. If there’s anyone who could fix that sort of thing, it would be you.”

“And of course, if it wasn’t just a PR problem, you were going to cut him loose into the ocean and pretend you’d never met him. We had rules about politics, Ms Ha.” 

Hye-won took yet another long sip of her drink. “By any metric, his information was useful, his future was bright and his problems seemed -- fixable. No harm, no foul.” 

Yoon Hee-jae, who’d remained perfectly silent for the exchange up till then, turned to Hye-won, tone ice-cold. “No harm, no _foul_? You were _aware_ of his predilections and you turned him over to Jung-byun with no warning?” 

She chuckled uncomfortably at that. “Very gallant of you, Mr Yoon, but Ms Jung’s very capable. And I didn’t want to make a fuss over some rumours when I personally saw nothing of that sort.” 

Geum-ja smiled in return, tone casual and light. “He _is_ a little annoyingly gallant, isn’t he? When we were hiring our ground level staff, he was very keen on ensuring that any women we hired had some self-defence training, or we’d pay for it. I have some -- interesting clients, and he didn’t want our staff to be unable to handle them. Men tend to be so performative with chivalry these days.” 

“He’s also absolutely correct,” she stated, sharp and deadly. “I’m not that terribly concerned about my face - thankfully it’s not my moneymaker - but two people put themselves between me and your fixable little problem tonight. If anything had happened to them, I would have cut you and Issume loose and let the viper VCs tear you to pieces.” 

There was a slight, telling tremble in Hye-won’s hand as she took another sip of her drink. 

Kim Min-joo interjected smoothly. “Mistakes have been made. Let’s not have any drastic talk of ending this relationship. What shall we do now?” 

Geum-ja’s smile was humourless when she spoke. “I think the police and the lawsuits will take their course. You can quietly disown him, I suppose, but make sure he’s on a short leash.” 

Ms Kim nodded at Ms Ha, who looked a little like she wanted to vomit, but nodded as well. “Well then. That can all be arranged.” 

Geum-ja stood up to leave, Hee-jae rising with her. 

Kim Min-joo stood up, hands laced behind her back. 

“Did you flinch?” she asked, staring ahead at nothing in particular as Geum-ja stopped to pass her by. 

“I’ve never flinched in my life,” lied Geum-ja, and followed Hee-jae down the cavernous doorway.

\---

Hee-jae drove into the night, conspicuously silent. 

“You can still call a partnership vote,” Geum-ja said, swallowing. “I think it’s only fair. Though we’re already out of this mess, so I don’t know what else it would be for.”

Hee-jae said nothing at first, pausing as if to choose his words carefully, and then spoke. “How many partnership votes will I have to call?” 

Geum-ja raised an eyebrow at that. “What do you mean?”

He looked at her briefly and then turned back to the road. In this light, he looked pale; she could see the full weight of the night in the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “This isn’t going to be the last time.”

No point in prevaricating. “No, that’s...unlikely.”

“So I can’t really hold partnership votes over you. Mr Kim’s hair will go white, I’ll start eating refined sugar again and you, you’ll just leave one day because this-” he points at them both, “restrains you too much.” 

“Where is this going?” she asked with a frown. 

He opened the glove-box compartment and handed her a Post-It. “That’s the number for Park Sung-ho’s secretary. I think it’s unlikely you can take it on, so maybe Hyeon-a can - although even that, I suppose, is also suspect given tonight’s events, so maybe another lawyer can talk to her and discuss representing her.”

“You spoke to her?” 

He nodded, and his jaw tightened up. “If he was worried someone was snooping around - that might have been me. So this isn’t on you alone.”

Geum-ja shook her head. “None of you should have been in the position.”

Hee-jae turned onto the highway. “You shouldn’t have been either. But you won’t give it up, so I’m proposing that you share. That you tell me, and that we work through it together, and manage the risk.” 

She frowned. “There has to be a catch. Are you going to insist you get a veto?” 

He shook his head at that. “I’ll have to rely on your discretion, I think.” 

Her heart thudded double-time. “You have plausible deniability now, at least. I can’t ask you to do any of this, or give that up.” 

“Then you can’t take it on, either,” he replied easily. “Plausible deniability will work until it doesn’t, and then you can find us a way out of that. Otherwise, save yourself the time and go solo if that’s what you want. It’ll be tough to run this on my own, but I’ll get someone else if I have to. Do we have a deal, Jung-byun?” 

She folded her arms and sat back in the passenger seat, Hyeon-a’s words from months ago replaying in her head: _what kind of jealousy is your forte?_

On any other day, she would have laughed this off - his concern, this offer, the entire awful night. But then Hyeon-a and Ji-eun had shifted the landscape of her stratagems; they’d put their all too terrifyingly vulnerable bodies in between her and danger. Geum-ja couldn’t find the reason for any of it, much less the humour now. Hee-jae had to have known that. 

“You’re playing dirty,” she said, half-accusatory and half-impressed. 

Hee-jae smiled then, his first all evening. “You know,” he pointed out, “that might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“I won’t let anyone else put themselves in this sort of danger. Not you, and especially not them,” she emphasised. 

“I didn’t ask for this so we could. We can minimise it. I only want one thing,” he said, exhaling hard. 

Geum-ja looked at him expectantly, but he averted his gaze back at the road, as if to muster up courage for something. She prompted him with a touch to the back of his hand; his fingers curled around hers with an astonishing death grip. 

“Don’t go somewhere I can’t follow, okay?” he murmured. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "I Follow Rivers", by Lykke Li, on recommendation from @thefeastandthefast, a purveyor of many talents.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The society wife from Yoon Hee-jae's ill-advised assignation is Lee Yeon-jae, who I've shamelessly borrowed from TVN Stranger/Secret Forest. 
> 
> 2\. Clarice is not based on any real-life popstar, though I visualised Son Gain when I made a throwaway reference to her in "fingers laced together". 
> 
> 3\. The Andy Warhol work is made up for the story. 
> 
> 4\. The story title is taken from "Casabianca" by Elizabeth Bishop. 
> 
> 5\. This story would have fallen by the wayside if not for its intrepid godmother, @thefeastandthefast. Thank you, dearest for beta-reading what felt like 18 iterations of this because it never quite felt right to me. Your words, on the other hand, always feel right. x


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